All Along, All Alone
by StoryTimez
Summary: Unrequited Shassie, Shawn contemplating running away. Kind of inspired by "All Along" by Kid Cudi. I had the idea, just no title. One-shot, maybe. Tell me what you think.
1. Chapter 1

"I swear to God, if you do not get out of my way, I will shoot you." Carlton glared at Shawn. The resident "psychic" was at the station far too much, and it only seemed to be Lassiter that the younger Spencer seemed to bother during his visits.

Shawn pretend-pouted, gazing up towards his occasional colleague. "Oh come on, Lassie Pants. You wouldn't really shoot me, you love me!"

The detective all but snarled, "I will _never_ love you, I don't even _like_ you." A few officers' eyes rested on the two men, the daily fight had become somewhat of a ritual at the station.

Shawn's face dropped into a frown, not even bothering to mask the true emotions he felt like he usually did. He wiped his hands idly on his jeans before backing up a few steps. "You're right, sorry Lassiter." The consultant turned and walked out of the station, not bothering to laugh about the "grumpy detective" to any of the uniforms who had watched the scene unfold.

Carlton only stared after him for a moment, mostly in shock that Spencer had actually used his real last name, before he retreated back to his desk. Lassiter sighed, knowing the man would be back tomorrow to show him up on a case, or to invade his personal space... _At least I don't have to deal with him for the rest of the day._

.

.

Shawn walked out of the station, fists balled in anger for himself, all the while trying to fight off tears. _You fucking idiot_. Was the one thought he had for himself, he just hoped Lassie wouldn't look too much into Shawn's reaction. _If he knew, you would be the laughing stock of the station, and not in a good way._

Reaching his motorcycle, he sat and breathed the air in deeply. The tears were still threatening him, so he quickly put on his helmet. Shawn Spencer did not cry, at least not in front of other people, and certainly not over a unrequited crush on a _detective_ of all people.

Kicking the stand, he pulled off into the darkening sky, not really focusing on where he was going. Distantly, he heard his phone go off, but he didn't care. It was likely a text from Gus or his father, unless Juliet had found out about his little tiff with her partner and decided to try and mend things. He scoffed to himself, _you can't mend something that never fit together in the first place._

It wasn't like Shawn to take rejection this hard, he'd always had brief flings with both girls and guys that never lasted because his partners "just didn't love him". But he had always shrugged it off, telling himself that he just hadn't found the right person yet and moving on to the next.

Now he wondered if he just wasn't meant to be with anyone, maybe he was just meant to be alone. Life seemed to work better for him that way, no one could hurt him, or chastise him for his poor eating habits, or see the real Shawn Spencer that he'd tried to bury deep within himself.

Slowly, his facade of apathy and happiness faded, and the insecure, unhappy Shawn came full blast.

 _N_ o _one will ever want you, and the only one you want despises you_. Shawn gritted his teeth, speeding up a little. It was then that he saw a mile marker, and surprise was cluttering his mind. He was running away, and he hadn't even realized it. The sunset had turned to pitch-black, and Santa Barbara had turned into an unfamiliar town.

He couldn't do this. Not again. Not to Gus, or his father, or Juliet, or the chief, or Las- _Lassiter_ wouldn't care, but he couldn't just leave again. Not this time, this was the longest he'd felt at home in a long time. However, he wasn't sure that he would ever feel a love for the town again after today.

He was still driving, still thinking, still contemplating. _Why would I ever think he would love me? I'm a child, an idiot, I get in his way and steal his thunder. He is a man, a straight man no less, and he hates me._ Shawn shook his head subtly, how could he have been so blind? It was just a stupid hope that made him hold on, a stupid bit of hope that was now crushing him. No one would blink an eye if he didn't come back, some people would even expect it. Shawn never stayed in one place for too long, especially not for three years.

He veered off the road then, pulling to the side after he'd seen yet another town's sign. _No._ He thought, _I'm not running again, I have hurt enough people by doing that._

His phone beeped again, and this time he pulled it out. Three messages from Gus, telling him they were going to be presented with a case tomorrow and to not show up hungover. He laughed half-heartedly as he replied a simple "Okay, mom."

He turned his bike back towards the direction he'd come from, the sun would rise soon enough and he had to get home. Shawn sighed, starting his bike, hoping he would arrive before the morning settled in and people noticed that he had almost left again.

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.

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"Shawn, where the hell have you been? You look terrible." Gus' voice was the first to project in the chief's office.

Shawn put on a goofy smile, but he knew he looked rough. He hadn't bothered going home and taking a shower, mainly because he had turned around three more times that night, wanting to run.

"I overslept, I'm sorry chief. Sometimes the-" He raised his hand to his head, "-powers just wear me out."

Chief Vick rolled her eyes, "If you'd care to sit down..." She pointed to the seat next to Lassiter.

Shawn's heart dropped as he saw Carlton's reaction, but he sat anyway, blowing the detective an air kiss and watching him shrink away in disgust. _Just keep pretending, even if it kills you._


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Okay, I just wanted to write depressed Shawn again...part of this scene is greatly inspired by the episode "Shawn Rescues Darth Vader" but doesn't really follow it exactly. Excuse mistakes regarding the law, or correct me nicely :)

/

Chapter 2: What I need Hates Me

Shawn stared at the black screen of the television, his movie binge had long since ended and all he could do was turn off the TV. He chewed his lip, maybe he would just sleep on the couch tonight, because he really didn't feel like moving.

It had been 3 days since Shawn's revelation that there was no chance in hell that Carlton could ever love him back, and the psychic was falling deeper into himself.

The thought of fleeing once again crossed his mind, followed by the urge to use a different method of forgetting his woes.

He sat for a moment, tapping his leg at a rapid pace before bolting from the couch and into the small kitchen.

He flicked on the light and his eyes traveled to the knife block. _It_ _could_ _help_. He thought in desperation, and it wasn't like anyone would be seeing him naked anytime soon.

He held the blade, running his fingers along the sharp edges before placing it against his forearm. A loud knocking stopped him before he could even start. He quickly placed the knife on the counter, confusion and paranoia entering his mind as he made his way to the door of his apartment. He passed a clock on his way, surprised to find that it was only 9 PM. Maybe the visitor was just Gus.

He swung the door open, placing a goofy grin on his face. "To what to I owe the pleasure... _Lassie?"_

Carlton Lassiter stood smugly in the doorway, arms crossed, his beloved handcuffs dangling by his fingers.

"Shawn Spencer, you're being brought in for questioning."

"Excuse me?" He asked, bewildered.

"I said." Lassiter stepped further into the man's space, tightly cuffing Shawn's wrists, "You're being brought into the station for questioning."

"And you're handcuffing me for that?"

"You're lucky I'm not arresting you, and that is purely for O'hara." Carlton replied, pushing him out of the door.

"Why the hell would you arrest me?" Shawn's voice was angry, angry that he was clueless, and angry at how much Lassiter wanted to throw him in jail.

"That's typically what you do when you suspect someone of murder." His reply was short as he ducked Shawn's head into his Crown Vic.

.

.

.

Everyone was at the station, Gus and his father included, watching as the head detective forced Shawn into an interrogation room. Gus, Henry, Juliet, and the Chief followed shortly after, unable to just watch him suffer.

In the room, atop the generic metal table, sat a polygraph machine. Shawn shook his head in disgust, he'd learned truly of his 'charges' on the way over, and couldn't believe that they actually thought he'd murdered someone.

He turned to face the small crowd, "Is this really necessary?"

"Yes." Nearly everyone's voices sounded off, except Gus's (for which Shawn was grateful). He sat in the chair on the receding end of the test, allowing Lassiter to attach every wire and suction piece to his body. He fought off the feeling growing in both his chest and groin. _He thinks you murdered someone and you still want to fuck him. Nice, Shawn_. The bitter thought came with a grimace.

Lassiter returned to the opposite chair, playing with the machine before asking his first question. "What is your name?"

Sensing that they were far beyond the time for joking, Shawn grit his teeth. "Shawn Spencer."

Carlton checked off the correct response, "Is this you in this photo?" He asked, holding up the surveillance screenshot the young Spencer had already been questioned about.

"No." _Correct._ displayed across the sheet, in the form of organized lines.

"Where were you yesterday evening, at 7:30?" He moved onto the next question, avoiding admitting that Shawn told the truth.

Shawn hesitated, not really wanting to explain his lonesome, drunken, suicidal night. "I was at Duley's Pub."

"For how long?"

Again, he hesitated. Everyone's focus remained on him, and he didn't want to see their reactions. "From 5 pm till 2 am..."

 _Correct._ He saw the looks of disbelief, and some of concern.

"You were at a bar for _9 hours_? Shawn, what the hell!" Gus chastised him immediately, but Shawn ignored him.

"Are we done here? You can call the bar, I was there." Shawn huffed, standing up. He was shot down by the detective.

"Not so fast, I have another question."

Shawn's face fell flat, he knew what the question would be but he also knew how to evade it. He sat down, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he spoke. "And what would that be, _detective?_

The other occupants of the room tensed, not only at Shawn's attitude, but at the realization of what he was soon to be asked.

"Are you a psychic?"

With a face void of emotions, the man mentally prepared himself-making him believe in his answer as he watched Gus sigh. "Yes."

 _Correct._ The group studied the lie detector, faces in stunned silence. Carlton sputtered, "Let me rephrase it, do you possess supernatural abilities that allow you to see or predict the future?"

Shawn was growing more furious by the second, _Why did..do I love you?_ "Yes." _I mean nothing to you. You want me to rot in a cell._

"Are you able to know things that others don't because of your gift?" Lassiter tried again, desperately.

Shawn's lips pursed, "Let me ask you a question, Carlton."

Everyone in the room looked towards Shawn, the pure rage flowing in his words grabbing their entire attention. "What did I ever do to you?"

"Excuse me?" The detective asked, moderately confused.

"What did I do to you? Why do you hate me?" Shawn began to ramble, losing sight of everyone in the room. The nightmare, surely it had to be a nightmare? Was draining him, and he was frustrated.

Carlton opened his mouth to respond, but Shawn cut him off unintentionally, for he didn't think he was really there. "I try so god damned hard to get your attention, and I know..I _know_ sometimes it's too much, but I can't help myself! I can't help that I'M IN LOVE WITH YOU!" Shawn cried out the end of the sentence, suddenly aware that he really was surrounded by his coworkers.

Each of the members in the room leaned forward to check the machine, except for Shawn, of course. He knew what it would say. The room was deafeningly silent, and Shawn's body was frozen in place as Lassiter looked up at him with displeasure.

The negative reaction drew Shawn out of his numb composure, and he tore the wires off of his skin. "I..I'm done here. You know I didn't murder that man."

He could hardly look at anyone as he fled the room, and he wasn't sure if he ever would again.


End file.
